Quicksilver Contemplation
by Fuujin Kishukaze
Summary: A first person account of one of Darien's lapses into QSM, and what he thinks of himself after the Keeper gives him some counteragent. PG-13 for language.


Author's notes: Ok, I don't own Invisible Man or any of the characters there in... but I'm pretty sure Scifi channel does. I do however own this little piece of ranting fic that came to me at midnight as I was trying to fall asleep that I make no money what so ever off of. Don't sue me? ::cute eyes:: You won't get anything - I'm broke. And now that I've finished my disclaimers allow me to apologize for grammatical errors (they're there for a reason), plot inconsistencies (I've only seen a few episodes and read a few episode summaries), and depressing stuff at the end. Um... please read and review? It'd be nice since this is my first attempt at an I-Man fic... let alone a first person account of QSM. Oh, and if the quote that precedes the fic belongs to you, lemme know? I don't remember where it came from.  
  
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iI sleep for the longest time, only to wake up in a world where nobody knows how to have fun.../i  
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I awake to a shooting pain at the base of my neck. It hurts like a bitch, but I'm not really worried about that. What I do care about, however, is the straight jacket I can feel wrapped around my torso. I struggle against my confines, and think I scream but I'm not really sure. It's not like I care though... all I really care about right now is two things. Number one, getting out of this rubbing alcohol-scented prison before Claire - my keeper, the Keeper - comes back with my goddamned counteragent leash. And number two, having a little bit of revenge on the bastards that did this to me. Why the fuck couldn't they just leave me alone? I didn't say, 'Hey, I want you to put this fucking thing in my brain that gives me awesome super powers, but forces you to lock me up once a week'. Oh... it's not that I mind the freedom that they tell me is madness, it's just that I don't appreciate being kept under lock and key.  
  
And now I'm struggling again... and screaming. Vulgar words at the top of my lungs. Threats about how I'm going to quicksilver and make them pay for this... and then laughing. I'm laughing. They think they can keep me here? Oh, how wrong they are. I'll get free. They can only keep me in this straight jacket for so long. I mean I have to get out for baths... or something like that... and when they do take me out, I'll get them. They'll pay for this - for making me a freak, for telling me I'm crazy, for locking me away. They can't keep Darien Fawkes locked up here forever!   
  
And then the door opens, and my head snaps to look in the direction of who disturbed my plans. And it's her. Little miss, 'I'm too English for my lab coat'. Here to give me my shot... to put me back on my leash... back into the cramped little cage they call sanity. But I'm not going to let her! She won't get near me! So, I inch into the corner, my crimson eyes locked on her wildly.  
  
"Here to whip the dog back into your illusion of sanity?" I demand.  
  
She looks at me with confusion - maybe all her genius isn't good for as much as I thought. "Hello to you too, Darien." she replies, mispronouncing my name again (she makes the 'a' to short, so it sounds like 'Dar' - rhyming with far - instead of making it sound like 'Dare'). Christ, I hate that. I mean, how long have I been a tool of the Fat Man and she still can't call me by my right name? Stupid bitch.  
  
"Darien. It's Dare-e-in," I mutter. "You think you'd realize that - but I guess you're not as smart as you pretend to be." And there's silence as I wait for some kind of reaction, but I don't get any. Instead, she just continues to clamber around her lab as she gathers the things she needs to give me my shot. Damn it... if I can't figure a way out of here soon, she's gonna chain me back up and make me the agency's slave again.  
  
"I was just kidding - see? You don't need the shot... I don't need the shot... we can all be shot free." She's still ignoring me, but now she's coming towards me syringe in hand. And so I start screaming at her, insulting her... saying things they think I wouldn't say unless I was like this. But as much as I scream and as much as I struggle, I can't stop her from using the needle... and in a flash of all-consuming pain, I'm back in the world of the sane.  
  
Shaking my head, I mutter an apology and ask her to take the straightjacket off. Sure that the counteragent has taken its toll, she undoes the buckles and helps me slip off the white loony coat. I offer her another apology, and she simply nods.  
  
"Don't let it come to this next time, alright?" Claire demands softly.  
  
"Wasn't my fault. It was either quicksilver or let Hobbes die. But I'll try." Again, she nods as though she is satisfied. Then she turns, and returns to her little desk to do her paperwork. And I start to get the feeling I'm not wanted.  
  
So I turn to leave, but I stop just feet from the door as a thought strikes me. Turning on my heels, I glance back at the Keeper and open my mouth to say something but I hesitate. Do I really want the answer to my question? Yes. And no. Damn, why can't choices in my life be easy ones? Though as I stand there trying to decide whether or not to ask her or not, fate takes it's own hand in things and she looks up from her paperwork and notices me hovering by the door.  
  
"Yes, Darien?" she asks.  
  
"Uh..." I start, wracking my brain for an excuse. Any excuse, so long as I don't have to ask what's been bugging me since my last counteragent shot. But nothing comes, and I find myself cursing inwardly, wishing I could be as quick on my feet with lies as I am with biting sarcasm; it's no wonder I was a shitty thief. "Look," I begin again finally, "I was wondering if you could give me one of your techno-babble explanations on exactly what the quicksilver in the thing in my head does to me."  
  
The Keeper arches an eyebrow curiously, but I don't think she's gonna refuse to tell me. "Well, Darien, it degrades your higher brain functions slowly. And as you've probably noticed, that causes you to slip into insanity."  
  
I frown, sliding across the room nimbly and into the chair she usually gives me my counteragent shots in. Leaning my head against the seat, I feel kinda like I'm in a shrink's office, and that kinda scares me, but I press my question. "Yeah, I know that doc, but what does that mean? What are higher brain functions? What do they do?" For a moment I feel like an elementary school kid - aren't people my age supposed to know these things? No, I realize, not if you lived the better half of your teenage years on the streets as a cat burglar.  
  
"Higher brain functions are mainly your patterns of rational though," she pauses as I shoot a glance at her that says I have no idea what the hell she's talking about, "your system of right and wrong."  
  
"Is that all?" I demand.  
  
Her face contorts into a frown as she thinks and then she replies, "It also removes your inhibitions... the things that keep you from doing and saying things that most people wouldn't normally say... sort of like a drug. Or alcohol."  
  
"Does that mean that whatever I say or do when I'm red-eyes is the truth that I won't fess up to when I'm sane?"  
  
"You could put it that way, Darien... Why?" I break into a mental string of curses - so I was right. Whatever I say when I'm quicksilver cuckoo is the truth... And that means I secretly hate all of my friends... or at least Claire... I feel overwhelmingly guilty, so guilty that I can't bring myself to answer the doc. There's a lapse of silence between us, and finally my Keeper speaks, "If this is about you said earlier, don't worry about it. I realize I mispronounce your name, and that it must make you rather mad."  
  
"Yeah, whatever..." I mumble, standing. "See you in a week for another shot." And I walk out of the lab, my shoulders slumped in self-loathing. 


End file.
